


At Any Cost

by SaveMori



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Canon Divergence - The Dragon Prince (Cartoon), Dark Magic, Evil Husbands Save Humanity, Katolis (The Dragon Prince), M/M, Or not, Xadia (The Dragon Prince)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:01:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28024395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaveMori/pseuds/SaveMori
Summary: No matter that his plan did not bear the fruit he expected. He still has the dragon killing weapon in his possession and the fortune to return intact with a couple new bargaining chips for the moon elves. He will find another way to harness ancient magic, then greet the mage who dares keep it from him in hell with a smile. But first, his vows.Humanity will not fall. Even if he must tear the magic straight out of Xadia’s heart with his own hands, they will not fall.(What if Harrow refused the revenge plot against Thunder?  Instead, Viren finds the storm spire empty, but for a familiar mirror. Humanity still needs saving and Viren will be the one to do it. Cannon Divergence. Past Viren/Harrow but Viravos is endgame)
Relationships: Aaravos/Viren (The Dragon Prince)
Comments: 30
Kudos: 54





	1. Fair Warning

It had been far too long since his surroundings had rippled so.

The roof of the greenhouse, typically set in a mosaic of feather lilies, distorts into jagged non-shapes that dance as if caught in a tide. The soul occupant, draped lazily over a rod-iron chair somewhere near the center, eyes the movement with a brief glance upwards from his reading. Glass and stone shatter and reform around him long past the acknowledgement as if to remind him of the nature of this room.

Of course, no matter how many centuries he spent wandering these halls he could scarcely escape the many crude reminders of his imprisonment. The gnawing absence of Xadia alone was overwhelming in the first few years, blanketing the space in thick, stifling empty despite the many furnishings. He’s reluctant to admit it nearly wore him to insanity, that is until he discovered the cracks and leaks of arcana. A little tugging at the seams of the space ensured a steady flow of magic, enough to breathe with some wiggle room for the occasional spell. And still, the illusion struggles to hold form. Sloppy, he resigns to himself. If he’d been tasked with building such a cage he would have at the least sealed out the arcana, and perhaps provided an imitation of running water. A sky too would have been easy work to replace the emptiness beyond the windows, though he supposes that particular detail was intentional. He hardly requires a reminder of his shackles, but his prison shudders around him regardless. 

Summoning always seemed to be too much for the space to handle and it shows in such a pitiful display of haphazard moon magic straining against much stronger spells. Still, he folds his hands over the text in his lap and allows his eyes to fall closed. Under the baleful moan of the illusion bending around him he can feel the hum of the star arcanum against the tips of his ears. If he focuses just so he can taste it, a whisper of the magic carved deep into the walls of his prison. How cruel it is, to be bound by your own arcanum yet unable to feel it weigh down the air. He inhales gently, hoping to catch a glimmer of familiar heat but the room twists so far around him that he worries the air itself will soon fizzle to nothing.

So, if only to take pity on the groaning spell, he gently closes the book in his lap and pulls himself gracefully out of his seat. On his way to the study he ponders which of the royal dragons has grown so desperate as to seek his counsel. How many generations have past since he was last called?

The study is, gratefully, rendered nowhere near as instable by the summoning as the greenhouse. He’s able to tuck his tome safely back into its home without having to stabilize the shelves. Perhaps the humans have finally moved to contest their rather precarious rule over Xadia’s lands, he speculates absentmindedly. Then again, perhaps not.

He slips into the heavy robe draped across the armchair at the end of the room before moving to his position a few paces off from the activating mirror. Considering the many… proclivities of the last one to summon him, he considers the extra layer a necessary precaution against any deviant requests. He’s been under their claws too long not to anticipate the degeneracy that seems to run in the Xadian royal bloodline.

When the image before him finally swirls from murky black to the face of his new master, he bows his head respectfully in greeting. The smooth, practiced greeting doesn’t make it past his lips before he’s assaulted by a low snarl.

“ ** _Aaravos_**.” Ah, his master knows of him already. He peers up past the edge of his hood to make out the unfamiliar face of the current King of Xadia. The dragon is young, barely a true man for a couple centuries he thinks. The smattering of dark scales below his eyes betrays blood shared with Aaravos’ previous master, though, he figures, distantly. Perhaps it’s been longer since the last summoning than he anticipated.

“Master,” He lets the title slip slowly past his lips, coaxing his voice back into function after years of dormancy. “How may I serve-?”

“ **Don’t mess with me, elf,** ” the dragon roars, rage spraying sparks across the stone floor on the other side of the window. A display unbecoming of a king, he denotes tiredly. “ **What’s the meaning of this?!** ”

“I am unfamiliar as to what you’re referring.” He barely makes it through the statement before being assaulted by another roar.

“ **My son!** ” The elf’s ears perk up at the words but he folds his hands gently in front of him, ever calm. “ **What have you done to my son?** ”

“You know well that I remain unable to reach anything past this glass but your ears. Do enlighten me on the situation so I may offer service.”

“ **He-** “ The dragon bends down so the mirror fills with only his scaly visage, curled into a snarl. “ **His health is declining**.”

“Ah,” the elf rumbles, allowing a small smirk to tug at the corner of his lips. “Shall I look into home remedies for common youth illnesses?”

“ **No!** ”

“Oh? So, an incurable malady,” He tilts his head delicately, smile still playing at his lips. “Perhaps fertility treatments instead?”

That particular quip spurs the dragon into a near fury and the mirror’s display soon fills with a blaze of fire. Not that it could ever reach its smug occupant, they both know this. Childish, he scoffs to himself.

“ **I know you’ve done something!** ” The dragon’s face sways back into view much too close to the glass to be comfortable. “ **While unfamiliar to the star arcanum, I can recognize a curse when I see one. What have you done?** ”

“I assure you, I have done nothing. If the arcana have chosen to forsake your heir there is nothing I can do to dissuade Xadia.”

“ **And my wife?** ” The elf blinks, the only outward expression of surprise at the statement. Both of them? Curious…

“I know not why Xadia would target your family,” he replies smoothly.

“ **That’s not good enough!** ”

“Hmm,” The elf tilts his head upward so as to shield the glint of deception in his eyes, resting his chin thoughtfully in one palm. “There is one cause I can think of for your loved ones’ malaise.”

“ **Well?** ”

“Tell me, do your loved ones sleep close to this mirror?” The slight narrowing of the dragon’s eyes answers the question before his mouth opens.

“ **You remain in our quarters, as it has been for generations. What is the relevance of that?** ”

“Mm,” Aaravos drags a finger gently across the runes carved into his side of the mirror frame, feeling for the thrum of magic he knows flows within. “The spells binding this cage together were cast rather carelessly. I wouldn't be surprised if the Star Arcanum reaches to reclaim her magic by now.”

“ **Ah, you think me foolish? As if you could garner your freedom from such flimsy lies.** ”

“I do not lie.” The words slip out as gracefully as they always have. “There’s a reason the Star Arcanum dwells far from Xadia. Even her gaze can be troublesome to the other Arcana, especially for those not born under her. Toxic even, if they linger close to the object of her interest.”

“ **I will not see you freed**.”

“I made no such request.” The elf takes a graceful step back, gesturing into a slight bow. “You requested council. If you would like to see their conditions improve, I suggest only that you remove the sick from the vicinity of this cage.”

“ **Moving this mirror elsewhere will cure their illness?”**

“Ah, not quite. I’m afraid the Star Arcanum moves much too slow to divert her gaze soon enough.”

“ **You would have me abandon the royal quarters?** ”

“I provide only information. To save the lives of your queen and heir, that is what I suggest.” Aaravos keeps his gaze on the floor, awaiting the King’s decision. It doesn’t take long before a resigned huff of smoke accompanies a gruff glare.

“ **Very well. You better not be attempting to deceive me, elf.** ” Said elf looks up with calm eyes to meet the dragon’s gaze. Attempting?

“I do not lie.”

He holds that gaze until the mirror fades back to inky black, then to its usually reflective sheen. Looking into his own reflection, as the room around him slowly settles back into its former shape, Aaravos can’t help but reach out a curious thought to the Star Arcanum. It, like every other attempt to reach her in this box, does not garner a response.

Still, he can’t help but wonder if the stars really are reaching out to him. Drastic as the consequences of the heavens stretching back to him are, the thought that the stars may miss him even a fraction of how he misses them is admittedly uplifting. Perhaps, he muses, draping his robe back over his armchair, his fate will bend as they read so many millennia ago. Then, he thinks, glancing back at the mirror, perhaps not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story occurs before the events of the series because I like to think Viren was more of an anti-hero before his little power trip. I love Viren, I love Aaravos and I L O V E them together, so rest assured you have something to look forward to in the near future. I'm a new, unbeta'd writer so bear with me. I'm also doing this instead of my thesis mid-term report.
> 
> Strap in, there will be fluff AND plot. Maybe some angst too. Tags/warnings will be updated as I go.
> 
> Save


	2. A Mistake is Made

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay SO, the regular update schedule for this will be every Friday. As an apology for being a day late to start out I'll post the next chapter a bit earlier!
> 
> Without further ado, here's the intro chapter for our lovable dark mage.
> 
> (I'm also still a bad student, but exams are over!)
> 
> Save

It’s not as if Viren had never considered failure.

All those sleepless nights bent over his work bench in a damp, musty dungeon flitting through books older than the societies he had liberated them from. That hard-back chair which, in spite of his pride, he knows is the reason the ache in his knee has persisted years past the court physician’s word, incompetent as she is. He's seen failure of course, but somehow he hadn't given much thought to the possibility that all his work, all his sacrifice in the pursuit of justice, would lead him round a cruel circle with nothing to show for it but an empty house. Then, the spirits had never shown him lenience. 

He had thought that, somehow, the answers to the world’s problems were buried in some old, bloodstained text. In a way he was right. Perhaps if he had pursued such a task a few millennia earlier the ancient magic smudging the texts across those pages wouldn't have barred such knowledge from him. Viren knows better than to blame the magic, tools are no more responsible for their outcomes as passerby’s. He is none so ignorant as to blame the blade for cutting down a soldier. No, the culprit is and always has been the wielder. Some greedy lowlife hoarding knowledge to themselves with a spell that, in all likelihood, has long outlived them. Brandishing such old, enduring magic with such avarice is near blaspheme for a sorcerer such as himself. If the spell wasn’t so exquisitely cast Viren may have mustered true disdain for its caster, not that lingering grudges amount to anything. Still, his blood boils a little thinking about it.

Against his better judgement, Viren blames that individual for everything. For the glint of steel in his wife’s eyes when she dragged their children far away from him, too far to reach by horse in a day. Not that he ever made the trip. For the biting edge of disgust in his King’s voice upon hearing the plan to save their starving people that he had labored over alone for months, building new magic in the pursuit of a solution. A plan which Harrow ended up enacting regardless, taking credit for the thousands of lives saved only to push the blame for civil unrest with Xadia back on him. He blames the mage for the suffering of his people under the thumb of Xadia’s Draconian overlords and the countless sins he had committed just to preserve humanity for a few more precious years. Foolish maybe, but even now Viren can’t help but believe that those passages hidden from him mean the difference between humanity’s survival and extinction. Between family and isolation. Between warmth and disgust in his loved ones' eyes.

Perhaps this rage blinded him. The desperation for survival clouding his judgement. He had proposed the mission as a matter of retribution to his King, a chance to avenge his beloved wife through blood. When Harrow had turned down his proposal with anger simmering beneath his words that should've been the end of it. Viren had always been deeply devoted to his nation, and to defy his King was to defy Katolis herself, he knows this. However, he had realized years ago, sometime during his third ‘scouting’ mission to the Duren border where he had to choose between the lives of his soldiers and that of a small village, that his devotion to humanity runs deeper. 

He had already crafted the perfect weapon for the job and slipping past the castle guard was abysmally easy even without the use of magic. Making it all the way to the Xadian border was more difficult, but surprisingly less of a hassle without the constraints of the royal escorts. Disguising his absence was also nothing a bit of ‘creative problem solving’ couldn’t fix. Only two people in the castle would have bothered to notice if he never returned anyways. At least one of which would huff a sigh of relief upon receiving the news, Viren admits to himself bitterly. Bitterness had never gifted him any fortune.

The border is surprisingly quiet. Apart from a smattering of small finches the skies remained clear, the vast silhouettes of patrolling dragons curiously absent. Viren had found the quiet quite eerie, but not so much as to dissuade him from his mission. Thunder must be the one, the mage barring the ancient texts from him, he repeats to himself. It makes the most sense to hide such important knowledge from the humans to keep them weak and subservient, and the royal family of Xadia would have an unvetted monopoly over the ancient texts used to pull off such a powerful spell.

So, he presses on, staff gripped perhaps a little too tightly in one hand. He had worried the dense magic held within the weapon crafted specifically to slay the King of Dragons would give away his position to the nest guards, however such worries were quickly dispelled by their apparent easy defeat. There were only two elves guarding the royal chambers, rather easy picking for the mage who quickly found himself alone inside the one place in Xadia a human had never entered. It's too easy. None of the royal dragons had reared their ugly heads thus far, and the measly guarding was laughable by even human standards. Viren doesn't not dwell on it though. Perhaps, for once, the spirits are on his side.

His hopes quickly dwindle as he looks around the chamber. It’s empty, apart from a few fixtures he assumes were built into the space. There are no books. No artifacts, no secret tunnels to spell rooms, hell there isn’t even a damn _shelf_ in the vast, hollowed out spire. He combs the room three times. He thought for sure that there had to be _something_. Something that the Royal Dragons had hoarded away from the humans. Something that could be used to save humanity, _anything_. But there isn’t. There isn’t even any evidence of the room being cleared out in anticipation of some kind of attack. Traces of magic, apart from that of its former occupants, do not linger. The room is simply empty and has been for a while.

Viren is halfway through a fire incantation to blast a hole straight through the floor of the damned place before he thinks better of it and dispels the magic. He refuses to lash out like a child and possibly compromise his position. Through the small blaze of dispersing flame, he notices the glint of something tucked into the wall to his left.

He hadn’t paid any mind to the mirror while he was searching the room, no more than a scoff at the vanity of a King that kept only such a fixture in his chambers. Upon closer inspection it doesn’t appear all that special either, giving off the faint aura of magic indicative of most Xadian fixtures. Viren doubts it holds more value than the average engagement gift amongst Katolan nobles. It’s not even fastened to the wall behind it. Still, the fact that it's the only fixture present in the royal chambers coupled with the mage’s desperation to find some proof of success for his precarious mission, pushes him to pull out his containment pouch. Petty theft though it may be, Viren admits, he cannot leave empty handed. So, with a quick spell and the unfortunate squashing of a rare Xadian glow-worm, Viren transports both himself and the mirror to his horse waiting at the base of the spire.

A sense of dread grows deep in his chest on his journey back to Katolis, but Viren holds his back stubbornly straight the whole ride. No matter that his plan did not bear the fruit he expected. He still has the dragon killing weapon in his possession and the fortune to return intact with a couple new bargaining chips for the moon elves. He will find another way to harness ancient magic, then greet the mage who dares keep it from him in hell with a smile. But first, his vows. Humanity will not fall. Even if he must tear the magic straight out of Xadia’s heart with his own hands, they will not fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I had to edit the chapters because the notes got a weird formatting bug, otherwise there aren't any other changes. See y'all next week! - Save)


	3. Loyalties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the new chapter a day early as promised.
> 
> Happy Holidays everyone!
> 
> Save

Unsurprisingly, Viren is met at the castle gates by half asleep guards. He near has to conjure wind to knock them off their feet to earn a fumbled salute and entrance into the courtyard. Katolis is a strong, dignified nation but her castle defenses admittedly leave much to be desired to say the least. Viren notes to discuss this with Harrow once he manages to will his way back into his good graces. Now that he thinks about it, he should start groveling as soon as possible. Perhaps a trip to the royal bakery is in order…

“Lord Viren.” The mage is shaken out of absentminded thoughts of jelly tarts by a stern greeting from a certain caramel-haired co-worker.

“Ah- Lady Opeli,” he tugs his horse into a slow stroll, intending to hopefully shake her off before the lecture starts. “I hear the trade routes through west Evenere are coming along well. I’m sure the King is quite pleased with your progress.”

“The King has no time to comment on such matters. Our King is in grief, and yet his lead advisor has been nowhere to be found.” Viren reaches the stable-hand and heaves an audible sigh while dismounting. Opeli steps into his path before he has a chance to flee, an action that, not for the first time, makes the hand resting on his hand staff twitch in annoyance. “Tell me Lord Viren, what was so urgent that you leave Katolis as she grieves?”

“I grieve with Katolis,” he asserts smoothly, daring her to deny it. She does not. “And I miss Sarai immeasurably. But you know as much as I do that we cannot neglect our duties if we are to prosper through this dark period. Our loss, though profound, does not halt the changing seasons.”

“Of course. Our food stores still must be catalogued and portioned for Duren.” She says it politely, but her eyes narrow just the same. He pretends not to notice, choosing to nod in agreeance. A civil dismissal has always seemed to work on the irate blonde. 

“I have spoken to the farmers of the southern quadrant, they expect exceptionally high yield counts. I have yet to hear from the east but I expect they will report the same.”

“That would be excellent news to notify his highness of so he may notify the Queens of Duren.”

“Indeed, I was on my way to speak with him now.” Viren gestures past her. The cleric is still visibly annoyed at him but bows her head respectfully and steps aside.

“May you find peace in your grief, Lord Viren.”

“And you.” Viren finds it hard not to heave a sigh the moment his back is to his cleric co-council member. He feels her gaze on his back as he makes his way up the castle steps, and stubbornly holds his stride steady and even. That is, as even as it can be with his ever-present limp, made worse by the half day’s travel on horseback.

Though a fiercely intelligent women, Opeli never ceases to drain whatever good mood he manages to salvage. Viren reckons, if she weren’t so obstinate, she would take well to dark magic. Though her faith in diplomacy and moral high-ground makes the thought of her drawing runes laughable at best. Despite it being an excuse to leave the conversation, Viren figures he should go to see his King promptly. Harrow had only just begun leaving his room to reassume his duties a few days prior and by this time of day is probably itching to get out of the throne room. Perfect time to whisk him away for a walk around the grounds. But first… Once inside, he makes a pointed turn left, detouring towards the earthy sweet smell of jelly tarts with a small smile.

* * *

“Your Majesty, do you have time for an audience?”

“Come now, of course he does.” Viren strides past the guard into the throne room where King Harrow is seated reading through a scroll, virtual mountains of paperwork piled up on his either side. Haggard is a gentle word to describe how the monarch looks, though still undeniably dignified adorned in his many vestments. One may not even notice the way his eyes zone out every few lines of reading if they had not known the man for as long as the mage has. Viren thinks if he sinks any further down into his throne his King may find himself on the floor. He can’t hold back a soft smile when Harrow looks up from his work to spot him and perks up in his seat.

“Viren!” He bows his head at the friendly greeting, stopping before the throne. Harrow waves a hand to dismiss the guards before visibly deflating back into his throne. 

“Thank the Gods you’re here. I swear my brain was about to rot if I read one more word about foreign textile trade.”

“Tough day I take it?”

“Tough month.” The flicker of grief across his King’s face makes his heart squeeze uncomfortably. Viren knows it must be draining, grieving his wife while their country is recovering from a near famine. Never mind the strong face he must hold up for his sons. The heavy bags under Harrows eyes speak of many sleepless nights. Ever resilient, Harrow always was since they were boys.

“Well, I come hoping to steal some of your time.”

“My friend,” the King looks down on him with that soft expression Viren still has to remind himself isn’t only his. “Our time together is never stolen. What is it you’d like to do?”

“A stroll.”

“A stroll?” Harrow raises a skeptical eyebrow, gesturing vaguely at nothing with an arm propped up on the armrest at the elbow. “Surely I heard that correctly, my head advisor offering to blow off work for… a stroll.”

“If you’d rather, we could have a formal meeting about the Duran trade routes-”

“No thank you, a stroll sounds perfect.” Harrow heaves himself to his feet to join his friend, nodding to the guards as they exit the throne room and allowing Viren to lead their way. Since he began to require his hand-staff to walk Harrow had developed the habit of allowing Viren to set their pace, undoubtedly to spare his pride. The sentiment is not lost on him as he sets a calm stride towards the east wing. They pass through familiar corridors and halls in comfortable silence, that is until Harrow lets out a disgruntled sigh and grumbles out what's on his mind. 

“It feels as if we’ve really grown old, choosing to ‘stroll’ for fun.” A playful glimmer shines in Viren's eye, but he keeps his eyes trained forward in attempt to mask from his King the way a small grin tugs at the sides of his mouth. 

“Your youth certainly has yet to abandon you your Highness.”

“Careful Viren," the King smiles, catching the amusement on his advisor's face. "Someone may overhear you questioning your King’s wisdom and maturity.”

“If you had either of those qualities I wouldn’t have needed to fish you out of the castle pond last spring.”

“Ha! Touche, my friend, Touche.” Viren pushes open a door to their left and holds it for Harrow to enter. “I suppose I’ll have to continue to rely on you for those things then.”

The men enter a small room with large panes of glass built into the ceiling. An old set of loungers sit facing each other by the balcony on the far side of the room, overlooking the vast forests east of the castle. From the look of the room one can easily tell that no one had entered for longer than it takes to clean it for years, but the King of Katolis runs a fond hand across the top of a lounger nonetheless.

“Do you remember this place?”

“Of course!” Harrow smiles fondly at the space. “We used to come here to hide from Sir Umoi. Gods, how many years has it been?”

“At least thirty by my count.”

“Jeez, we really are old.” The King flops down onto the couch, draping his arms across its back. Viren follows suit, sitting heavily in the opposite lounger and rubbing at his knee in attempt to soothe its ache a bit. “It feels like just yesterday we were hold up here after skipping a week of sword training to go to- what was it?”

“The Iguamu races in Evenere.”

“Yes! Yes. Oh I thought Sir Umoi was going to burst aflame when he saw us renter the castle.”

“You had me go grab whatever I could find so we could camp out here for the night while you distracted him.” Viren chuckles at the memory. Harrow had been so rebellious back then, and Viren himself was hardly a good influence either with his taste for adventure as a new mage and all. “I was so flustered that I took a wrong turn and ended up at the bakery instead of the kitchens, so I showed up here with nothing but an armful of jelly tarts.”

“Jelly tarts!” Harrow’s laugh could probably be heard on the castle grounds below, if anyone were there. Viren is happy to hear it again. “That’s what this is missing. I should have someone bring us some.”

“Ah, well you see,” Viren lets a playful smile play on his lips as he pulls a bundle wrapped in a napkin from his waist pouch. “I may have made a wrong turn on my way to the throne room as well.”

“Viren, my friend, I fear sometimes you can read my mind before I’ve made it up.” Harrow accepts the tart with a relaxed smile, melting back into the lounger. The two sit in comfortable silence for a while, enjoying the atmosphere, until Harrow breaks it. “Thank you, for this.”

“Of course.”

“No, really Viren. I- I don’t know how I would have made it without… After losing My Love…” Viren doesn’t like the shroud of sadness that washes over Harrow’s face, enough that the true purpose of this meeting rushes back to mind.

“I owe you an apology.” He tries to make eye contact, but Harrow keeps his eyes shut and head reclined back to face the ceiling. Virens eyes catch on the bobbing of his throat as he swallows, then the square of his shoulders, but he quickly drags them back up to his companion’s face. “What I proposed- at such a time, it was appalling. You should not have had to consider such bloody affairs with a heart so heavy with grief. I too, was - _am_ \- still grieving her and carelessly sought revenge to soothe the hearts of our people.”

“That’s enough, Viren.” He doesn’t tilt his head back towards his advisor. In fact, Harrow’s brow furrows to clamp his eyes shut tighter shut. Something in the atmosphere turns sour, Viren can feel it biting at his throat as he breathes in. “Leave me.”

“What?”

“I said leave.” The mage blinks at the reaction. Had he said something wrong? The hesitation only makes things worse, as Harrow balls one hand to a fist and practically snarls at him. “Perhaps you are prepared to face the consequences of defying your King. I ordered you to leave me. _Now_.”

“Harrow-”

“NOW.” He’s looking his way now, eyes full of wet rage and that familiar edge of disgust. Viren’s heart sinks. The order in his tone is clear. The mage grits his teeth against any biting words he would come to regret later and forces himself to his feet. 

Viren manages to leave the room without enacting his rage on any inanimate objects, but the door to his quarters is none too lucky. The satisfying crack of the doorframe does something to soothe the sting of rejection in his chest. He had set up a nice afternoon for them. He even _apologized._ But it always comes to the same thing. Harrow _always_ has to enforce his power, _always_ resorting to ordering him around with the threat of treason at a whim as if Viren is disposable. As if the respect he earned through blood and sweat was _optional_. Gods forbid he acknowledge the things Viren did to keep Katolis strong, of the endless working and hurting his _advisor_ must do to mitigate the damage on his _idiotic_ , _self-righteous_ decisions. Would he still look at him with such disgust in his eyes then?

He has to take multiple slow, deep breaths to unclench his fists and regain his head. No, Harrow is grieving. He’s entitled to space. Take the time to organize your thoughts and find a new way to access ancient magic.

It takes a long while for his shoulders and chest to loosen up, but inevitably the crash of cold resignation hits him and washes the fury out of him. Viren slumps over in his desk chair, burying his face in his hands. He knows his quick temper does nothing to help him. In fact, a level head is the most important tool he has as a dark mage, lest he allow Xadia to tear away at him to nothing. He wasn’t always so quick to anger. Somehow over the years, as the threat of Xadian annihilation became a reality and the ignorance of his nation increasingly apparent, his temperament has worsened a worrying amount. He should have anticipated this, that years of working alone on mitigating tensions with the Xadians and providing creative solutions for blooming conflicts before they reach his Kings ears would make him bitter.

He is reluctant to admit he has become a bitter, lonely man in his pursuits. With an exhausted sigh he unfastens his waist pouch and carefully empties the contents onto his desk. The translucent bag of coins glows faintly at his touch, denoting the many spirits stored safe within. The new additions appear to be fairing well, though he will have to check back in a few days. Perhaps the elves he captured may be of use for more than spells and political bargaining.

Tucking the bag somewhere safe, he instead turns eyes on the small containment pouch. As barbaric as it was for him to steal furniture from the Royal Quarters of Xadia’s monarch, the prospect of something new to work with in his studies is intriguing. Now is no time for such trivial magic, perhaps in the distant future after he finds safety for his people. Though he knows of the magical properties of Xadian furniture, he’s had yet to experiment extensively on its uses for dark magic. For now, he figures, the mirror would make a nice fixture for his quarters. In an emergency he can at the least extract a marginal amount of magic by breaking it just so.

Palming the containment bag, Viren pushes some of his remaining magic out in the general direction of his wardrobe. The mirror soon after materializes there, casting a long shadow across the far wall. The threading golds weaving runes across the frame give it a certain radiance under the warm light cast from his balcony window. It’s perhaps too ornate for his tastes, though Viren admits such a beautiful possession may be nice to come home to. If anything, it adds some much-needed warmth to the room. The runes woven through its frame remain wholly unfamiliar to him, undoubtedly to conserve the beauty of such an item he thinks. He supposes it may hold other secrets as well, and notes to investigate the runes sometime soon.

For now though, his body screams at him for rest. He’s going on his third day in a row without sleep, which, while no where near a record for him, clouds his mind a little too much to focus much on new magic. The promise of a full day tucked away in his hidden study soothes his mind enough to tidy his room, draw the curtains to the balcony and pull on his bedclothes.

The sun still hangs low in the sky as the mage slips into a dreamless sleep.


	4. The Mirror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I got a new tablet with a pen for Christmas, which awoke in me an overwhelming compulsion to draw nudes. 
> 
> I have never drawn anything in my life. 
> 
> It's been days and I drew my first penis at 10AM after being glued the screen shading abdominal muscles for 20 hours straight.
> 
> Long story long, my lab samples have died, I have become completely nocturnal and I'm sorry this is late.
> 
> Save

Viren wakes up long before dawn. In fact, the relative quiet of the castle speaks to the early hour, too early for even the sun to peak through the crack between his curtains, not that the mage could tell on the average day. After one too many long nights spent working in his study, he had the palace staff install thicker curtains in his room to allow him to catch sleep whenever it came. Harrow had scoffed at him for enabling such a bad habit, once suggesting his friend may soon become a vampire if not careful. It had not deterred the mage in the slightest, and he often finds himself grateful for the ability to catch a few hours of shuteye before his co-council members come banging on his door for gods know what. Many of his spell ingredients require the shroud of night to function anyways.

He is quite accustomed to waking to relative darkness, which is why the mage grumbles into his pillow once, twisting away from the blue-white light before its impossibility hits him. He bolts upright, snatching his walk-staff from his bedside and blinking sleep out of his eyes. There is no attacker summoning some form of storm magic as he had immediately assumed. Instead, at the far side of his room, the Xadian mirror gives off the glow. It’s angled away, but even from the bed Viren can see the corner of the image clearly as if the glass had disappeared. Cautiously, he slips out of bed to approach the artifact and the room within comes into view.

It’s as if the mirror had become a window to what looks like a study crafted from glass. The room is big, arches of crystal stretching a diamond pattern across an almost pearlescent floor that appears to hold some sort of marbled liquid beneath it. The swirling greens and blues within stir lazily, almost slow enough for Viren to mistake the marbling as simply solid opal. Rows of shelves stretch up out of view on the far right, interrupted only by a rather large, glassy fireplace adorned in swirling ornaments. To the left, more shelves tucked behind a large desk, the chair sitting at which resembling more a throne than a workseat, the lustre of twisting glass giving way to pillowy red cloth and simple gemstones. Hanging planters and various flora are scattered throughout the room, tumbling over shelves and hanging gracefully over areas of the room. The tall stain glass windows on the far side give off a peculiar glow, unlike that from the sun or moon, making it impossible to tell what time of day it is in there.

His hand, as if guided by something heavy and compelling, feels out for the surface off the mirror and presses flat against the cool glass. Indisputably there, though more invisible to the eye than any glass he had seen. Indeed, a window, Viren concludes and allows his shoulders to relax a little. Instead, a small fluttering seats itself in his chest. The room is much too opulent to be anything but Royal. Viren should know, he grew up surrounded by the luxury of the Katolin Royal Palace. All those books… perhaps, could this be part of the Xadian royal library?

Viren steps back, settling into some pensive pacing to gather his thoughts before his excitement gets the better of him.

Let’s say it is a library of sorts. The size of the room and fixtures suggests it isn’t designed for navigation by dragons, so… Elves? Dragons have had long standing bonds with the many elf nations in Xadia, it wouldn’t be preposterous for them to forge alliances through information. A remotely located hive of information cared for by elven wardens far from the front lines. This mirror then, could be a service window of sorts, a way for the Xadian Royals to access their tomes without fear of losing them if the spire is ever attacked. It would make sense for it to have been in Thunder’s personal quarters then. But the room was deserted. If the royal family were to relocate, why leave such a valuable artifact behind? Nevermind the magic required for such a vestment, allowing one to peer into another space in real time, is unheard of even by Xadian standards as far as Viren can garner. Some form of complex illusion magic is the only thing he thinks could come close to the level of detail in the scene. For what then, entertainment? What’s so entertaining about an empty room?

Viren is so stuck in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice the door of the glass study open. The occupant strolls in swiftly, returning a book to its home on a shelf behind the desk. Viren’s eyes are drawn to the movement, which snaps his attention to the figure reaching for a high shelf.

He freezes, watching the elf move about the room, assumedly to tend to the various plants. Surely that’s what it is, an elf, but not like one he had ever laid eyes on. It glimmers as it moves about the room, a blot of deep violet scattered with slarlight, donning robes so similarly painted with stars that Viren finds it difficult to discern cloth from flesh. Even from the distance across the room through the narrow window of the mirror, the figure looks imposing, as if it would tower over him if they were ever to come face-to-face. Still, the grace in which it moves about the room speaks to a forceful elegance far beyond even the tidebound elves he had come across. When it bends down to touch a leafy plant set on the floor, a cascade of starlight coloured hair, just one shade off from glowing itself, tumbles over its shoulder and Viren swears he sees something shimmer within. Breathless, the mage admits that it looks as if someone had torn down a piece of the heavens and bottled it in flesh.

He had not expected to lay eyes on such a creature, donned in his bedclothes in the heart of Katolis at an ungodly hour of the morning. And still, the gods have never been so kind as to make things convenient for him. Viren has to stop himself from stepping closer to the artifact and instead shakes his head a little to clear it up. Pretty as it may be, the mirror is still indisputably Xadian. So, pulling on his best diplomatic façade Viren straightens his back, folds his hands behind his back and clears his throat expectantly. Nothing.

“I request an audience with your superior.” The elf doesn’t so much as glance in his direction and continues about its business, completely unawares.

Viren deflates a little. Of course it wouldn’t be so easy. If perhaps he could get its attention, he could extract some form of information, though it’s considerably more difficult without speaking. Heaving a large sigh, he settles back to sit on the end of his bed facing the mirror. So much for the work he was to do today. It looks as if he will spend the day digging though old tomes on illusion magic. Perhaps he can modify the release spells to open some line of communication into the space. Ideally, figuring out the location on the other side would be his goal but, he admits to himself, even at first glance magic like this is far beyond his current scope.

He watches the elf move about the room instead. Clearly it has some grasp of magic, conjuring watering tins and moving things about on currents of fog idly while its hands are full. Viren watches on with an odd sinking feeling as the elf continues to use such spells casually with its face turned away from the mirror. He recognizes tidebound magic among them, though he knows little to nothing about its casting. Peculiar.

Eventually the elf makes it closer to the mirror face, now facing him. It tugs at the large droplets of water following it about the room with deft hands and, with a short sweeping motion of its hand, sends them up into a hanging planter. Viren’s breath catches as he catches as its gaze sweeps the rest of the room. For a moment he swears their eyes meet before its gaze falls somewhere a little to the left of him.

The elf must see something because it freezes, hands twitching before dispelling the water entirely. It strides first over to the seat by the fireplace, sweeping a large cloak over its shoulders before approaching the mirror a lot faster than Viren anticipates. The mage barely has time to jump nervously to his feet before the room is blotted out by dark fabric.

“I- ahem- am glad to have caught your attention.” He stammers out, trying to regain composure. He can barely see its face shrouded by the cloak, but he can see the tension in its posture. He suspects it doesn’t hear him though, as it approaches the mirror far too close and doesn’t so much as flinch in his direction. In fact, it doesn’t look up at him either. Instead, it reaches a hand tentatively up to the middle left part of the mirror, where Viren had pressed his hand against minutes prior. Four fingertips painted in the night sky brush curiously against the print on the mirror, sliding up to fit themselves comfortably against the handprint he had left behind in an almost tender gesture. Viren has to remind himself to breathe.

It glances up and he gets a proper glimpse at its face. A spattering of stars settles across its cheeks, framing soft features and upturned eyes.

Sharp amber eyes, like a beast.

Its gaze slides past him like he isn’t there, though however briefly sending unsettled chills down his spine. It looks… Surprised? Surely it’s expression is cautious, but there’s something else… Viren can’t place it, and he doesn’t have much time to. The elf closes its eyes and visibly sighs, then retreats from the mirror’s surface.

Viren panics a bit at its retreating figure, unsure of what it will do when it leaves. Clearly it's seen his very human handprint on the mirror, even if it hasn’t seen his face. If it contacts its superiors or alerts Xadia, who knows what sort of retaliation lies in store for the human kingdoms.

In a desperate effort to do _something_ , he summons wisps of magic to his fingertips. The rune he draws is a muddled amalgamation of moonshadow illusion release and sunfire light magic. In the absence of a creature to draw power from, Viren grips inward at whatever stores are remnant within him from past spells, as if he were performing a simple, household charm. The spell ends up pulling the heat from his flesh into his fingertips and tugging at the shadows around him in the process. Forfeiting an incantation, he lets the magic build until he feels his lips chill and vision distort at the edges, then bodily pushes it at the mirror. Raw force was never so effective as a calculated invocation, and it shows as the rough edges of the vagrant spell scorch at the floor and whip back at his body on its way to its target. Still, it holds true, and Viren watches through blurry eyes as the image within the mirror tremors ever so slightly as the spell makes contact.

Of course it wouldn’t be so easy, he laments, grasping at the bedpost to steady himself. He ignores the way his stomach lurches in the aftershocks of such a sloppy spell in favor of gasping for air, grateful that his heart had not given out in the back lash. Unfortunately, for how it had ravaged his body the spell had not even made a scratch on the artifact. It had succeeded in catching the figure’s attention though, unbeknownst to him. It pauses in retreating, turning curious eyes back on the mirror.

The mage is too busy wheezing in air to notice the way its eyes light up in the mirror’s direction. Viren’s eyes clear in time to watch the elf gesture its hand out stiffly, putting out the hearth and somehow dispersing the light in the room. For a moment the whole mirror goes dark. Then, the light from the floor and stain glass slowly returns, revealing the elf once more.

It’s looking at him.

_Directly at him._

Its amber gaze slips down, following the lines of his hunched over body before flicking back up to look him in the eye with an upturned smirk. The mage can’t do anything but widen his eyes before it turns and strides out of the room regardless.

It takes a few more seconds of heavy breathing for Viren to process what just happened, at which point he curses under his breath, clenching his jaw and slumping over on himself.

That was decidedly stupid, he admits. ‘ _Always so much quicker to act than consider. You’ve always been a such rash man, Viren’_ the echo of a young Harrow’s voice surfaces bitingly in his memory. He should have left the artifact alone until he was able to examine it properly. Normally he would never be so reckless with such an object, lest it be cursed or worse, but something about it… the pull of whatever magic activated within felt as if it were calling out for his touch, and he had… No matter. The elf saw him, he’s sure of it. He only hopes that he can figure out how to make use of it before Xadia rains hell on the human empires for his theft.

He doesn’t have much time to beat himself up over it though, as he is jerked out of his self-deprecating doom spiral by a heavy knock on his door.

“Lord Viren,” the familiar, mousy voice of the secretary’s servant rings on the other side of his door. He turns panicked eyes on the mirror, still lit up in a considerably darker empty room. She knocks again, insistently. “Lord Viren, the council requests your presence in the meeting hall.”

Hopes of being left alone to sort out his current self-made catastrophe dwindle at the firm tone in her voice.

He heaves himself up to search the room for something appropriate to cover the mirror. Summoning flames to the candles lining the walls feels like grinding gravel into the underside of his skin and he winces, instantly regretting the action. He notes begrudgingly that he'll have to lay off the sunfire mimicry with his magic for a little while. That's what he gets for tossing out such an ugly, reckless spell. Lucky for him, the light has the undesired effect of reverting the mirror back to its previous reflective state. A surprised eyeful of his reflection has him cringing even through the relief of know how to ‘turn off’ the mirror. Darkened eyes and grey scars stare back at him. Even as he restores his visage with a quick, only mildly burning illusion spell, he admits he looks just about as good as he feels.

“Lord Viren, I have been advised to bring you to the hall by any means necessary.”

“Yes, yes hold on.” He calls out exasperated, rubbing at his eyes. He limps over to the door, doing his best to hide the way his muscles ache in his good posture. The servant already has her arm raised to rap on the door once more when he opens it.

“Miss Iris.” He greets her smoothly, trying to keep the tension out of his voice. She at least has the decorum to look sheepish, bowing her head respectfully.

“Lord Viren, I have been tasked with-”

“Bringing me to the meeting hall, yes I heard you earlier.” He watches her gaze drift up a little, not quite meeting his face before a faint blush warms her cheeks. Ah, his bed clothes. “Be sure I have received their summons. Allow me a few minutes to get decent and I will accompany you to the hall.”

“Ah- of-of course, sir.” The servant, Iris, the daughter of Lady Hesta’s newly married in cousin if he remembers correctly, often mills about the meeting hall. Apparently, the associate secretary had a particular fondness for her. “I’ll wait here for you, my lord.”

A curt nod and a strained smile later, Viren is slumped against the closed door, eyeing the mirror apprehensively and wondering what the hell he did to deserve his life tilting dangerously closer to falling apart in the past 48 hours.

The hollow anxiety settled somewhere under the ache in his upper abdomen whispers of the possible gravity of this situation. The mage figures, even if he manages to pull through with a best-case scenario, none of this bodes well for him.


	5. A Busy Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! (Almost on time too)
> 
> More stuff in notes at the end of the chapter and all that jazz :)
> 
> Save

The morning passes in a blur. Viren has maybe four minutes to wash his face and pull on some clothes before the antsy servant practically drags him down the to meeting hall. He feels a bit better once he gets there to find that the other councilmen appear equally as disheveled as he feels. That is, other than Opeli. In all likelihood she’s the one to call such a meeting at such an ungodly hour. She levels him with her usual polite, disdainful glance when he enters before going on a long rant detailing progress on the resource counts for Duran.

A few hours into the ‘meeting’, which thus far constituted mainly of Opeli and associate secretary Murel arguing back and forth about the most appropriate way of transporting goods, Viren can physically feel his blood pressure rising.

By the time the meeting ends, with the ultimate useless decision to consult the King on the matter and readjourn he may add, the sun is well into the sky and most of the ache in his body from his morning activities has subsided to manageable levels. Viren thanks the gods he had managed to convince Harrow to refurnish the meeting hall with more comfortable chairs and proper documentation storage early last year. If he had to spend this time in a hard-backed wooden chair listening to them bicker in circles he fears he would have confiscated the voices of both council members with a little magic and announced the meeting adjourned hours ago. Seriously, how many times can a man hear of the promising future of sheepupine transport before breaching insanity?

“Ah, Lord Viren.” He looks up from the table to see the associate secretary’s familiar, sheepish servant bent into a respectful curtsy. “Do you perhaps require any assistance with your affairs this morning?”

Viren flashes her a diplomatic smile.

“I have my plans outlined and paperwork sorted for today already Miss Iris. Thank you for your concern.”

“Come now my lord,” the booming voice of Murel precedes his arrival somewhere behind him. “Surely even a man as capable as yourself could use a little room service now and again.”

A heavy hand falls on Viren’s shoulder, undoubtedly attached to said boisterous associate secretary. Viren cringes a little at the sudden contact but doesn’t let it meet his face past a slow blink.

The man’s always been unnecessarily loud and equally as indulgent. Though, Viren admits, as much of a brute he comes off as, Count Murel is undoubtedly sharp when it comes to financial affairs and surprisingly perceptive of the people around him. Of course, he is also easily distracted by manners of the flesh, hence the slew of pretty, young assistants in tow of him at all times.

Viren had noticed long ago the way the air around Murel tastes different, whisps of magic clinging to him with the changing seasons. Even now, as Viren inhales he tastes smooth tufts of magic characteristic to the oncoming chill of fall air tumbling off the man’s body. He suspects the man to be a low-level dark mage, likely using simple glamours to gain the upper hand during negotiations. Though they have never spoken of such manners outright, the way Murel’s gaze always seems to stick to him for days after he performs large spells speaks to a certain perception of magic. Viren is not one to outright expose the natures of his councilmates, especially those few who make sound decisions. Not to mention that, hierarchy-wise, Count Murel is of considerably higher nobility than his own newly acquired title. Of course, he had carefully vetted the count to ensure he poses no threat to Katolis regardless. Indeed, the man is a valuable ally to the king and has proven himself competent many times over. Viren had, years prior, resolved to afford the man the respect he deserves, and as a result often gets stuck participating in these friendly ‘chats’. 

The assistant, Iris, is looking up at the two with hopeful doe eyes, undoubtedly egged on by her master.

“I find no problem retrieving my own meals from the kitchens on my way across the castle grounds. Miss Iris has important paperwork to sort through for you regardless. It would be a considerable waste of her talents to assign her maid-staff duties, Count Murel.”

The count lets out an exasperated sigh from somewhere above him.

“Indeed. Iris, go sort the labor requests from the west quadrant for me. I’ll join you shortly.”

“Yes sir.” Viren doesn’t imagine her deflating a little as she’s dismissed, peering up at him from another deep curtsy. “Glory to Katolis, My Lord.”

Viren fights back the urge to shrug the count’s hand off his shoulder as the servant retreats. He doesn’t have to for long though, as Murel lets go in favor of dropping himself into the chair next to his.

“You must know to take a hint.” Murel tracks his assistant’s puttering out of the room with flat, azure eyes, running an exasperated hand through his mane of hair as if making a display of it. Mane being the operative word, Viren notes grumpily. The man sports an impressively thick head of auburn hair that fools onlookers into construing Viren as the older of the pair. “Poor Iris has been psyching herself up to greet you all month.”

“I hear she is very capable at her clerical duties.”

“Oh, she’s capable of much more than that.” Viren rolls his eyes. It’s always the same song and dance with Murel. “And she comes from a noble family, good blood.”

“What is she, nineteen? I could be her father, Murel.”

“Come now my lord, you’re not that old!” The count lets out a laugh, regarding Viren with a quirked eyebrow. “Not that it matters from what I’ve heard from the noble ladies.”

“I’ve told you before, I have no interest in such things.”

“We both know that’s not true.” Murel leans over the table, dropping his voice with a sly grin. “Women talk you know, my lord. Men too. I have on good confidence you’d have an impressive cue to your chambers if you were to loosen up a little.”

“Not all of us engage in the same indulgent lifestyles Count.”

“I suppose. I just hate to see the ladies so stirred up with no chance.” Viren shifts in his chair a bit, his bad knee making itself known in its usual, painful manner. “At least allow me to introduce you to a couple eligible young ladies. Perhaps one will strike your fancy without distracting you from your… work.”

“I have to politely decline again. If you have anything to report to me regarding the Duren aid routes, please send a note to my study.” Viren does his best to pull himself indignantly to his feet as a none-so subtle way of ending the conversation. Of course, as if chastising him for such a brash dismissal, his knee decides that moment to give out under him.

In a moment of panic, the mage realizes his shoulders don’t have the strength to catch him as he fumbles for the edge of the table. He doesn’t hit the ground though, body steadied by a smooth grip around his waist before he can fall.

“Careful.” Murel rumbles, a little closer to his ear than Viren considers decent. The touch lingers, thumb tracing a firm half circle on his hip where it steadies him. Before Viren can think to react, the hand is already gone, the Count stepping backward to allow him to catch his own balance from there. Viren has half a mind the clear his throat a little and try to remain collected on the surface, praying that the blush he feels warming his cheeks isn’t obvious. From the amused look Murel sends him, it’s unlikely. Viren reassures himself that his embarrassment is from the shame of his failing body, and not the… alternative.

“Ah, thank you. I’ll-ahem-be taking my leave.” He stammers out a little ungracefully, leaning heavily on his walking stick for support.

“Of course.” Murel bows his head respectfully regardless, smirking under trusses of his stupid, perfectly groomed hair. “Do see me if you find yourself in need of anything.”

Viren limps out of the hall, rather embarrassed and considerably more dishevelled than he walked in. The ghost of warmth encircling his waist following him down the corridor, warming his cheeks and ears.

Viren knows very well that, as head advisor to the king, he really aught to take another life partner to avoid the social ramifications of being an unmarried member of the court at his age. But Harrow has been lenient on him since Lissa and he remains firm in his decision to remain devoted to humanity as a dark mage, unhindered by such distractions as romance. It is true he finds himself uninterested in such courting events as balls and festivals, not when there’s always new magic to discover and perfect. Though, his body remains honest as any man’s and as a result he finds himself embarrassingly… _aware_ of any human contact he makes. It had indeed been a while since he had been touched more tenderly than a passing handshake, so of course he would be... startled by such sudden contact.

Viren repeats the platitudes to himself until the blush eventually recedes.

Though, even on his way across the hall with thoughts of addressing his serious mirror dilemma crowding his head, he can’t quite shake the lingering sensation. Curse that lecherous man, always so quick to grab hold of anything that breathes. Surely, Viren muses, someone young and bright-eyed will catch his eye and divert his attention before he gets any ideas of speaking one-on-one again.

He manages to order his thoughts in time to enter the library, sending a respectful nod to the bookkeeper on his way to the back aisle. One of his perks as head advisor to the king, besides the mind-numbing mandatory council meetings at 4AM, is unquestioned access to the royal library. The breadth of knowledge stored there, especially regarding Xadia, is far greater than the other kingdoms as far as he is aware. Granted, this is owed in part to Viren’s vehement pursuit of materials to grow the collection over the years, enabled by his royal seal of ‘strengthening Katolis by gathering intel’ approval that shuts up anyone who questions why he has obtained so many ‘forbidden’ texts.

He plucks a few tomes off the shelves then settles himself at the little desk nearest to the shelf of Xadian texts to read. It’s a long shot, but he’s hoping something in one of these texts mentions something of mirror artifacts or secret library. He recalls something about illusion magic charms on mirrors being in one of the books he has stacked on the desk in front of him.

Hours of reading later Viren comes up with… something of an explanation, though he’s reluctant to believe it. Luckily, there are many mentions of mirror enchantments accessible in his texts. Besides one blurry sentence mentioning a mirror that drips with enough magic to soak through the page and nearly wreck the entire book when Viren attempts to read it, it appears whatever mage withholding knowledge from him cares not about hiding them. From what he can garner, mirrors imbued with magic are commonplace vestments for Xadian nobles. A couple of the books mention the many possible moonshadow spells set onto the mirrors, including those that make the reflections appear more beautiful or not at all unless beckoned to do so.

The account closest to his current mirror speaks of a complex image for the viewing pleasure of its owner. It outlines the commonality of Xadian nobles, dragons and elves alike, owning such artifacts appearing to contain beautiful creatures that interact with their owners. The account specifically recalls one such artifact containing the image of a tidebound elf woman that managed to capture the heart of its forlorn master. These artifacts are, however, stated to be complex illusions and only that.

The idea doesn’t sit well with him, though he is loathed to concede that the elf he saw in the mirror definitely classifies as a ‘beautiful’ creature.

The implications of Thunder, Archdragon ruler of Xadia with a mate of over hundred years, keeping the illusion of an elven mistress guarded in his empty quarters are decidedly less ominous than other conceivable options. Still, Viren is sure the explosive spell he had sent at the mirror would have done some damage to it if it were used only for recreation.

Something in Viren’s intuition tells him that the passage hidden to him by old magic holds the real truth behind the mirror. He has to consciously relax his jaw from its frustrated clenching lest he get a headache on top of his aching body.

Next, Viren heads to a small building in the castle courtyard, the new knight’s quarters. He had spent the majority of this morning’s meeting tuning out the council in favor of working out solutions to his predicament surrounding the elf in the mirror. No matter what solution he comes to, everything requires him to establish some means of communication with it. He had already gathered materials for the most obvious, written notes and spells, however when he had looked for texts on sign language the bookkeeper mentioned they had been signed out to a young knight in training a few weeks prior. Hence the trip outside the castle to the considerably dirtier building.

A young man with a shock of unruly red hair and an overly-bright smile answers the door, sweeping into a deep, albeit clumsy, bow upon seeing him. He can’t be any older than Murel’s servant, likely very fresh blood to the royal guard.

“Lord Viren! To what do I owe the honor sir?” He peers up at Viren with a smile much too warm for a stranger, still bowing. The bookkeeper did mention the kid is an eccentric one. It makes Viren weary of those who label himself as eccentric as well. Surely, he is nothing close to this uppity boy.

“You’re the new knight, Sir Gren, correct?”

“Uh, yes sir!”

“The book-keeper mentioned you have ‘Rudiments of Sign-Language’ in your possession.” The kid blinks up at him, relaxing from his bow in favor of a comfortable stance. The empty look on his face betrays his blatant confusion.

“I- know the basics sir. But I’m afraid I’m still learning, and I may not be proficient enough to-”

“The book.” Viren deadpans, interrupting the boy’s casual rambling. His eyes light up in recognition. 

“The book! Yes, I do have that. It’s uh- please excuse me while I get it.” The kid disappears into the bedroom. Viren elects to ignore the loud crash and subsequent clatter of objects hitting the floor within.

He manages to sound nervous and confident at the same time, Viren muses. It reminds him a bit of Claudia when she was young, prattling off about whatever came to mind with a firm grip on his hand. Not his boy though, he was quieter and surely never nervous about anything. The number of times he had to scoop Soren up into his arms before he got hurt challenging older kids to ‘duels’ made him worry for the kid’s sense of self preservation. Lissa likely beat that foolhardiness out of him on the estate’s sparring grounds by now. How old would they be this year?

Another loud crash pulls him out of his thoughts before the boy stumbles back into view, book tucked under one arm. “Here, it is!”

Viren takes the offered tome, flipping it over to inspect to cover to ensure it’s the right one. “It’s very considerate of you to learn sign language sir. I hear Captain Amaya really respects those that can keep up with her.”

A quick once over of the book confirms its contents. It looks simple enough to discern the basics before sundown. Despite being quite obviously ignored, Gren keeps chattering nonchalantly.

“That is, the other knights say so. I figured being able to understand her better would make me a better knight! That isn’t to say I’m trying to suck up to her or anything, I just respect her very much and well, the crown guard is cool and all but it’s my dream to join the standing battalion and since she’s the current captain I thought-”

“Yes, thank you Sir Gren.”

“Ah- you’re welcome!” The kid sees him off with a bow and an energetic wave. His sunshiny disposition exhausts Viren a bit, which he supposes is just a result of his old age. Still, the shine of youth is refreshing. He notes to return the book promptly once he’s finished with it, lest the kid come strike up a conversation with him over it somewhere inconvenient.

Several more hours of studying rudimentary sign-language and collecting odd spell ingredients later, Viren is seated in his quarters, in the dark, facing the mirror once more. After the whole day of preparing he still has next to no plan.

It’s not like he has anything to threaten the elf with, if it’s even real that is. His basic series of steps is to figure out how to communicate with it, then discern whether it’s actually real, _then_ try to work from there to discern it’s use to him.

Weak, he admits, but what else is he to do? Break it?

Viren casts all the revealing spells he can think of on the mirror, mixing many of which with communication magic in his first attempt to reach the other side. He admits that they are unlikely to work, but perhaps one might open an avenue for speech. After completing his preparations, he drags his desk chair in front of the mirror and seats himself gingerly, minding his knee.

Then he waits.

And waits.

Until, sometime past midnight, the surface of the mirror reveals the familiar, glassy study. Surprisingly, the occupant is already there in the room, seated comfortably by the windows perusing a book. When the mirror activates the elf looks up from its text, eyeing Viren from under the hood of its cloak.

The mage has all of 12 seconds to gather himself, as the elf closes its book and approaches the mirror, before he has an eyeful of creature again. As expected, it can definitely see him, tracking his movements as he goes to stand by the mirror’s surface as well. It regards him with a calm curiosity this time, not quite indifferent but close. It even reaches to pull down its hood, regarding him with an open expression as if to indicate its willingness to participate. The starlight speckling its cheeks glimmer with interest, casting shimmers of light across its dark sclera. Viren has to swallow to wet his throat before starting.

“I assume you can’t hear me?” The responding silence is enough to ensure to him that it can not. He sighs, pulling a few sheets of parchment from the table to his left. The elf tracks the movement. “Very well. I have prepared alternatives.”

The notes are written clearly, simple greetings in as many languages as Viren can access. To his knowledge, most elves speak English variations, though he does pride himself in covering all bases. He holds them close to the mirror and the elf regards them for a moment before blinking back up at him. Of course, the expression is virtually unreadable to Viren, who has to bite back a chill at the eye contact. Something about the thing is just… striking. Holding its gaze somehow feels akin to glancing over the edge of a cliff, Viren remarks to himself. If this thing’s an illusion, Viren concludes he will have to re-evaluate his understanding of moodshadow magic’s capabilities.

The elf materializes a book into an open hand with a flick of its fingertips, opening it to a random page and holding it up to him in the mirror. Its contents, much unlike the remarkable clarity of the rest of the room, are blurred beyond comprehension. Viren figured so would be the case, but a part of him had really hoped such an oversight would’ve been made to make the process easier for him. He nods in recognition and the elf withdraws the book, disappearing it in another flourish of its hand and settling back into a comfortable posture, still regarding him.   
Viren has to remind himself not to be embarrassed at his next actions. Though a severe longshot, the idea of sign language isn’t a bad solution to such a situation, disregarding its association with the late Queen’s sister. Truth be told, Viren had once made efforts to have a working fluency in the attempt to converse with the royal family properly. However, it had become increasingly clear that Amaya never had any interest in speaking to him, so he long since fell out of practise decades ago.

“Hello, my name is Viren. Do you understand?” He signs alongside the words, hoping for some recognition in the elf’s expression. To his horror it looks amused instead, tilting its head a little at him as if regarding a child.

Viren deflates, trying not to glare at the elf or toss something across the room to relieve his frustration, choosing to pace a bit instead. If the elf is humoring him it should at least have to courtesy to look for a way to communicate itself-

As if reading his mind, the elf summons a table of items in front of the mirror. Viren halts in his tracks as he regards the various items, spell casting ingredients and tools as well as a book with a smooth blue cover, before looking up to regard the amused look on the elf’s face. It gestures towards the collection as if to further indicate them as an answer his previous thought, regarding Viren with a playful gaze . It then picks up each item in succession, holding each one out for him to inspect. Surprisingly, Viren finds himself recognizing most of the ingredients. He reckons he already has half of them in his study, and the cover of the book looks vaguely familiar to him as well. It’s an odd combination of ingredients, a few of which he recognizes for their uses in various charms and healing spells, but not incompatible in magical nature if he remembers correctly. When the elf puts the book back down and levels him with a questioning look Viren nods, assuming his task to be collecting those ingredients.

Viren had figured that the elf would leave once they had come to some sort of agreement, but it doesn’t. It instead summons a chair and settles down in front of the mirror, watching him. Refusing to turn his back on it, Viren stays where he is, locking the two in an awkward non-exchange.

They end up staring at eachother in silence for a solid minute before, under the increasingly amused gaze of the elf, Viren eventually makes the flustered decision to start gathering the materials immediately.

Much to Aaravos’ pleasure, the human forgets to open his curtains as he hurries out of the room, leaving his chambers in full view once the room is plunged into complete darkness once more. The elf summons cup of tea and settles into his seat, regarding his new scenery lazily. A plush bed, made quite hastily he notes, that looks hardly slept in. Due to the shoddy spellwork of his captors, or perhaps by design, he can hardly make out the edges of other furniture organized neatly about the room, wood carved by someone with considerable talents by the looks of them. The human must have a taste for dark colours, he muses, regarding the black fabrics and dark stone making up the majority of the room. A far cry from the veritable mossy cave of flowers he had been accustomed to catching glances of on the other side of the summoning window. Aaravos considers the new space to be rather homey in comparison.

It's a shame that noone is present in either room to see the grin tugging at his lips as he awaits his new human attendant’s hasty return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes Murel and his servant are OCs. *Insert unamused groaning here* I typically don't like OCs, but I needed a specific sort of circumstances for plot so boom there they are. Rest assured they aren't main characters or anything, but we will see more of the flirty (Magic using?) associate secretary in the future.   
> Let me know if you think he's too annoying (I'll try to minimize his appearances and switch up my plans in that case). At least a surprise Gren cameo is in here to soothe the soul. 
> 
> Thanks again for all your lovely comments and kudos, keep 'em coming!
> 
> See you all next week!
> 
> Save


	6. And A Thrilling Arrangement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. 
> 
> New update schedule for every two weeks because my thesis is hard.
> 
> As an apology I was hoping to put a Viren fanart I drew the other day at the end of this chapter but it turns out the place I posted it (just so I could show you guys) isn't compatible with A03's tool. I literally just started drawing like a month ago though so rest assured you're not missing out on much. 
> 
> You all are so lovely and patient, please remember to take care of yourselves and sleep well. 
> 
> Save

He has a bad feeling about this. Really, only a fool would blindly trust some creature in a mirror from an enemy land and perform some unknown spell. In the castle of Katolis while the king sleeps no less. Yes, only a desperately curious, borderline treasonous idiot.

If someone were to see Viren right now they may, by some force outside the scope of Xadia, swear to see the words ‘This Idiot’ scrawled across his forehead.

Indeed, even while shuffling down the halls with an armful of the requested items, part of him has considerable doubts. Viren had wracked his brain for the past couple days to figure out what kind of spell he would be casting, to no avail of course. He doesn’t even know if half of these things can be used for spellwork. I mean, common herbs? Cloth? The elf may sooner have him cook himself into a dish than cast a spell. Surely it understands that, as a human, he must use a magical creature as a source of magic to cast. Yet, none of the items shown could even be construed as a creature of any sort. In anticipation of the oversight, Viren had dipped into his veritable insectarium of Xadian creatures. Bottles containing an Archangel Lunaris as well as several shadow spiders are tucked safely under his arm. If the elf is expecting him to imitate some primal magic, he’ll need at least this to pull it off.

Viren steps into his room quietly, closing the door behind him with his heel. Before his eyes can adjust to the darkness, the white-green light cast from the mirror lights up his path across the room. The elf is still there, lounging in a plush armchair with the tableful of items in front of it as if it had been mere hours, not days, since their last meeting. It inclines its head at Viren as he approaches, closing its book and eying him with an all too skin-crawlingly pleasant smile.

_This is such a bad idea_ , he repeats to himself. He steps forward to organize the items across the table before the mirror and swears the elf smirks in smug agreeance. _But you’ll do it_.

And he does, proceeding in an odd repeat-after-me style sequence of actions with the items, mimicking the actions of the elf on the other side of the mirror. Many of such actions clarifying exactly nothing as to what kind of spell, if it even is one, he is performing. Viren had gone so far to raise a questioning eyebrow at the elf when it gestured to begin embroidering the cloth, wondering if the creature was simply tugging him about for the fun of it. Still, when it had acknowledged and dismissed the expression in less than half a head tilt Viren had obediently mimicked the stitches. The rest is pretty straight forward, combine various ingredients and crush into a powder, combine with water to form a potion. No stranger to all manners of sense-altering salves, drops and concoctions, Viren hardly bats an eye in downing the potion when the elf brings the glass to its lips.

That is, until it palms the knife.

Viren has his own blade ghosting across his palm before he realizes what he’s about to do and stops. The elf also pauses, hand held elegantly palm-up over the bowl of crushed crystal and gaze leveled expectantly at him. He hesitates.

To his knowledge, human blood is a very involatile spell ingredient. Viren had experimented with all sorts of human-derived ingredients in the past, but only one had worked. It wasn’t blood. Still, whispers of taboo blood spells between Xadians had reached his ears, the corrosive, irrevocable sort of incantations that scorch earth and devastate bloodlines. But the elf is looking at him as if it’s obvious and all of a sudden Viren can practically feel the contents of the bowl tugging at his hands.

His borrowed hands filled with dirty blood.

He had promised, sworn, to do anything in his power.

Anything.

He presses firmly into the knife and slices his palm too deep. The steady dribble of blood into the bowl serves sufficient to activate _something_ , as a burst of brilliant violet flame threatens to singe the edge of his sleeve. He grits his teeth and bears the sting of the wound, gripping a spare cloth to stem the bleeding and waiting intently for the next instruction. On the other side of the mirror a twin burst of flame fades to a swirling glow, bathing the elf’s hands in swathes of scarlet light. Viren’s gaze barely catches on the light though, captured by the rather eerie sight that is the elf’s open mouth. All at once he is reminded of the likely explanation of the mirror’s occupant, as ‘entertainment’, with a dawning horror. 

Whatever the mage had expected happen next, it had not been for a large insect to crawl out from under its tongue. The gap between his expectation and the disgusting results slingshots one form of shoulder tension to another in a whiplash sort of twitch that ultimately boils down to surprise. Viren watches, apprehensive, as the creature guides the insect onto its hand before offering it to the swirling light. Said swirling light appears in the bottom of his own bowl and out crawls the same insect, a rather big example of a caterpillar he notes upon closer inspection. It creeps its way onto his extended hand and visibly lingers around the edge of bloody cloth. For one horrified moment, Viren imagines it may cram its way into his open wound. It doesn’t, deigning instead to scale his body until perching itself on his ear. He does his best not to cringe at the gross feeling of sticky insect feet on him, choosing to focus on the elf in the mirror.

Viren realizes, with a sinking feeling, that the spell is over. Sticky magic floats in the air before him, yet the mirror looks no different and his senses remain the same. He risked his blood for… an insect.

“Was that it?” He bites out, trying to focus on anything other than the disgusting feeling of the caterpillar shifting on his ear to find that the elf has a rather satisfied look on its face. In fact, its whole posture visibly relaxes and its eyes half close as it heaves an audible sigh.

“Yes, that was it.” The elf rumbles out slowly, as if tasting the words.

Viren’s stomach drops. He flinches backwards but there’s no one behind him. The elf lets out another deep humming sound and Viren swears it’s lips are pressed against his ear, too close. It just stands before him patiently, waiting for the mage to put two-and-two together, self-satisfied smile lighting up the stars spattering its cheeks. Eventually Viren collects himself enough to clear his throat, folding his hands behind his back and squaring his shoulders in what is coined around the court as his ‘diplomatic stance’. The elf beats him to the punch though,

“If you would so indulge me, what is your name?”

“Viren,” he states resolutely, trying to ignore the way the hauntingly deep timbre of its voice so close to his ear sends shivers down his spine. “What are you called?”

“Viren.” Again, the elf stretches the word out as if to consider it, ignoring the inquiry entirely. “ _Viren_.”

“State your business.” The elf smiles, banishing its table in a shimmer of magic with a flick of its wrist. Viren doesn’t miss the way it definitely doesn’t visibly cast anything to do so.

“My business depends on what you want of me.” The words slide out all too smoothly and Viren falters. “Tell me, how I may serve you, _Viren_?”

“Ah, that is-ahem-yes.” Perhaps divulging his name to the creature was a bad idea. “Are you… real?”

The elf narrows its eyes before visible recognition dawns on its face. It leans forward, a playful grin pulling at its features.

“I am real. Though, I do wonder what sort of illusion you think me to be.” The stubborn blush painting his cheeks seems to answer in his stead, though the elf seems to have caught onto his line of thought. “I didn’t think a mage of your sort to be interested in such… ornaments.”

“I’m not!” Viren has to backpedal from his outburst to save face. “My interests lie with humanity, elf.”

“You asked after my name. Please, call me Aaravos.”

The word, a name, rolls off its tongue as if it were the only thing meant to grace its lips. It falls heavy on his ears with the weight of an old incantation in one Xadia’s long forgotten dialects. In fact, Viren doubts he could recreate the pronunciation if he tried. He’s remained unfazed by less.

“Very well. Aaravos,” Viren feels the word draw magic to the tip of his tongue even as he mispronounces it, pushing wisps of it to tumble from his mouth on the ‘s’. Not a quite a spell. “What is it you’re responsible for?”

“… do you perhaps ask after my function?”

“Yes,

“As I currently am, I exist to serve a master.” The words come off fluid, practised in such a way that Viren has learned to identify political prisoners. Neither man believes them.

“You serve Xadia?”

“I have, upon my previous masters’ wishes.” A certain glint in Aaravos’ eye speaks to its relative disdain for its previous ‘masters’. “Though I assure you, I am no friend to Xadia.”

“If not a friend then what, a servant?”

“A prisoner.” The sharpness of its voice startles Viren. Thus far the elf had been all pleasant smiles and polite gestures, but the way it bites out the word betrays genuine contempt. It’s gone just as fast. “And a tool, or so I’ve been coined.”

“Convenient.”

“For them, sure.” The elf tilts its head thoughtfully, eyeing him more intently than Viren is comfortable with. “And for you, if you would have me.”

Viren bites his tongue to stop himself from retorting something more spiteful than appropriate. He’s long since learned that elves don’t take well to so called ‘human bigotry’. If it offers resources, he cannot pass them up. Not as a mage, or council to the king of Katolis. It definitely has nothing to do with the potential power trip associated with the title ‘master’ that he knows all too well he should be avoiding. Viren chooses to remain cautious instead.

“You would take me as your new master?” After a moment’s pause the elf doesn’t outwardly emote, choosing to pin Viren with a stare that stings like the edge of a blade, quickly dispersing any notion of a subservient subordinate in the mage’s mind. Somehow the arrangement feels closer to the time he had fed a caged banther, the same creeping, brittle power dynamic.  


“Well, you’re already much more amenable than your predecessors.” Aaravos admits, smiling down at the human. He definitely looks frightfully nervous, and so graciously human. Sure, they aren’t all reasonable beings, but after a millennium of obstinate royals he’s glad for at least the chance of civil conversation, from a dark mage no less. A surprisingly trusting one, Aaravos adds amusedly, especially for the tang of magic saturating his blood. Never mind the experience etched into his skin, just below that glamour of his. He really aught to know better, the elf muses. The stars on his cheeks glimmer as he becomes increasingly fascinated with just how at odds Viren’s posture and expression are. _He probably does_.

Viren lets out a breath he doesn’t realize he was holding. The banther back then had, ultimately, served its purpose before it got a chance to snatch it’s pound of flesh after all. Aaravos continues, “And it seems we have similar vested interests. I have many tools here that may be of use to you. If you yearn for anything Viren, you need only ask. I live to serve.”

And oh, was that ever the right thing to say.

See, Viren had always liked the thrill of staring danger in the face.

“Very well. I do have something I need fixed.”

And Aaravos? He’d always harbored a particular interest in impulsive humans.

“Then, let's remedy it, shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you in 2 weeks! - Save

**Author's Note:**

> This story occurs before the events of the series because I like to think Viren was more of an anti-hero before his little power trip. I love Viren, I love Aaravos and I L O V E them together, so rest assured you have something to look forward to in the near future. I'm a new, unbeta'd writer so bear with me. I'm also doing this instead of my thesis mid-term report. 
> 
> Strap in, there will be fluff AND plot. Maybe some angst too. Tags/warnings will be updated as I go.
> 
> Save


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